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Game Changer & Make Some Noise
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. . . john prices doll && pope codys whore !. eighteen ⏾
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⟢ the pitt ⋆.˚ ethel cain ⋆.˚ angels ⋆.˚ hannibal ⋆.˚ religious trauma ⋆.˚ animal kingdom ⋆.˚ older men ⋆.˚ horror ⋆.˚ will graham ⋆.˚ ultraviolence ⋆.˚ deftones
older hunter!western cowboy who finds you wandering through the woods at night - part 1
cw: mentions of injury, fear, and implied violence (not from him)
the woods had gone quiet by the time he saw you.
not the peaceful kind of quiet, neither. it was the sort that settled deep between the pines, where every branch creaking overhead sounded like a footstep and every gust of wind seemed to carry a whisper with it.
he’d been making his way home along the old hunting trail when something moved between the trees.
at first, he thought it was a deer.
then he heard the crying
he stopped.
there you were.
you were stumbling through the undergrowth, one hand pressed tightly against your side, the other catching desperately at branches as you tried to keep yourself upright. your clothes were torn and muddy, your hair tangled with leaves, and tears shone wet against your cheeks.
you looked like you’d been wandering for hours.
“well, what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ way out here?”
you turned sharply at the sound of his voice.
the sight of him frightened you worse.
“hey, hey.”
he lowered his rifle at once.
“easy now. ain’t gonna hurt you.”
you tried to answer, but whatever words you’d meant to say dissolved into another sob.
he took one slow step toward you.
you stumbled backwards.
he stopped.
“alright. i’ll stay right here.”
his eyes moved carefully over you.
“just breathe.”
then he saw the blood.
his expression changed.
“jesus…”
you followed his gaze and instinctively pressed your arm tighter against your side.
“you’re bleedin’ through your clothes.”
you shook your head.
“don’t fuss with it. lemme take a look.”
you shook your head again.
“easy now. you’re alright. just got yourself banged up some.”
he waited.
after a long moment, you finally nodded.
“that’s it.”
he set his rifle against a tree and crouched beside his old leather medical bag.
“hold still now.”
you flinched when he reached toward you.
he stopped immediately.
“easy.”
his voice softened.
“i know you’re scared.”
he waited until you gave the smallest nod.
“there you go.”
he carefully began tending to the injury.
you winced.
“i know. i know it hurts.”
your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your sleeve.
“just a little longer.”
you squeezed your eyes shut.
“you’re doin’ fine.”
he worked slowly and carefully, pausing whenever you tensed.
“that’s it. nice and easy.”
finally, he secured the bandage and sat back.
“there.”
he inspected it beneath the fading light.
“ain’t pretty, but it’ll hold.”
he packed his things away and rose.
“reckon you’ve had yourself a rough night.”
you looked toward the trees.
he followed your gaze.
“you wandered a long way from the road.”
you said nothing.
“folks don’t come out this far unless they’re runnin’ from somethin’.”
your eyes flickered toward him.
he studied you quietly.
“you runnin’ from somebody?”
silence.
he nodded once.
“…figured as much.”
he offered his hand.
“c’mon. cabin’s just up yonder.”
you looked at it uncertainly.
“you can’t stay out here.”
after a moment, you took his hand.
the walk was slow.
the forest seemed endless in the darkness, tall pines hemming you both in on either side, their black branches knitting together overhead. damp earth gave beneath your boots, and somewhere far off, an owl called once before the woods swallowed the sound.
you kept looking over your shoulder.
eventually, he noticed
“you hear somethin’?”
you shook your head.
“then quit lookin’ back.”
he glanced into the darkness behind you.
“whatever you’re scared of, it ain’t caught up with you yet.”
you walked on.
then, through the trees, a warm amber glow appeared.
his cabin sat in a small clearing beneath the pines, half-hidden by moss and shadow. it was an old, weather-beaten thing, built from dark timber that had silvered with age. the roof sagged slightly beneath its years, and a crooked stone chimney rose above it, breathing a thin ribbon of smoke into the night.
there was a rusted lantern hanging beside the door, its glass glowing faintly gold.
a stack of split firewood leaned against one wall.
an old pair of muddy boots sat beneath the porch.
he climbed the few wooden steps and opened the door.
warmth rolled out to meet you.
inside, the cabin smelled of cigarettes, burning cedar, old leather, pine resin, and whiskey steeping somewhere near the hearth.
a stone fireplace took up most of one wall, its flames casting a soft, restless glow across the room. above it hung an old hunting rifle and a pair of antlers, both darkened with age. a worn wool blanket had been thrown across a broad wooden chair, and a small table sat beneath the window with a chipped enamel mug, a lantern, and a stack of yellowed books.
everything had its place.
nothing was new.
but there was something comforting about it.
the kind of place that had been standing long before either of you arrived and would probably still be standing long after you were gone.
he stepped aside.
“ain’t much.”
you stood hesitantly in the doorway.
he glanced around the little room.
“but it’s warm.”
you stepped inside.
he shut the door behind you and turned the old iron latch.
“there.”
he crossed to the hearth and stirred the logs until the fire rose higher, throwing gold across the floorboards.
“come sit by the fire.”
you lowered yourself slowly into the chair.
he went to the little table and poured you a glass of whisky.
“here.”
he held it out to you.
“have a drink. you look like you need one.”
you took it with both hands.
“small sips now.”
he pulled another chair toward the fire and sat opposite you.
for a while, neither of you spoke.
rain whispered against the window.
the fire cracked softly in the hearth.
you stared into the flames as though they were the first thing you’d seen all night that wasn’t frightening.
he watched you quietly.
“you can tell me what happened when you’re ready.”
you said nothing.
he nodded.
“ain’t gotta be tonight.”
he leaned back in his chair and glanced toward the dark window.
“whatever’s out there can wait till mornin’.”
then he looked back at you.
“ain’t nobody gonna find you here.”
the fire burned low between you.
outside, the woods stretched endlessly into the darkness.
inside, for the first time that night, you stopped shaking.
i hear a cigarette calling my name
⟢ rules + guidelines (blog/reqs)
ʚɞ reqs are open ⟶ i write smut, angst and fluff
ʚɞ what i write: noncon, dubcon, violence, breeding, stepcest/fauxcest, bimbo!reader, dumbification, degradation, manipulation, humiliation, corruption, voyeurism, age gaps, daddy/sir kink, weapons (knife + gunplay), impact play, power dynamics, threesomes. i'm okay with pretty wide variety of topics !
ʚɞ what i won't write: scat, vomit, pedophilia, male! reader, foodplay, feederism, feet, heavy age play
ʚɞ who i currently write for:
⟶ the pit: michael robinavitch + jack abbot
⟶ supernatural: dean, sam, john
⟶ animal kingdom: pope cody
⟶ marvel: frank castle
⟶ cod: john price, simon riley, soap, gaz
⟶ hannibal: will, hannibal
⟶ sinners: remmick
ʚɞ i might take time responding requests as im a full time uni student and struggle w mental health so plss be patient! 🫶🏻
ʚɞ hashtags : #angel writes for my works and drabbles and #angels mind for random posts
ʚɞ if you don't enjoy dark content or agree with my thoughts/opinions then don't interact and block me.
ethel cain for the 'face magazine', 2022
daddy?
Y'all have no idea how shitty the wifi is in my gothic castle
an older man who is patient with me, has a wide vocabulary, and is emotionally intelligent holding me and reassuring me would probably fix something deep inside of me..
